Brad Thor - The First Commandment

At that moment, a series of realizations began crashing down upon Harvath.

“The only problem,” continued the Troll, “was that whoever sent the plane to pick the men up knew about the top-secret program. The aircraft had been outfitted with equipment capable of conducting full blood transfusions.”

As Harvath tried to focus his mind, he asked, “How do you know all this?”

“It was part of a report filed after your government lost track of these four men when the plane landed overseas. Containers with their tainted blood were taken in four different directions and discarded. They were eventually recovered by the Central Intelligence Agency.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with-”

“The blood painted above your doorway,” interrupted the Troll with impatience. “It contained the same unique radioisotope used on the four men released from Guantanamo.”

“We don’t have much choice,” offered Finney, trying to be the voice of reason in the group. “If you say no, or if you miss his deadline, he’ll bolt. I know it.”

“So what?” replied Parker. “If he runs, we’ll find him. It may take a while, but we’ll track him down eventually. Besides, he’s got zero bank balances across the board. Maybe he’s got some hard currency stashed here and there, but how long is that going to last him? Not long.”

“And if he decides to use the money to take out a contract on Scot?”

It was a scenario Parker had considered, but didn’t deem plausible. “Then he’d really be in trouble. If he killed Scot he’d never get his data or his money back.”

“But he could start over,” said Finney. “Maybe he could even extort protection money from the four men on his list. He could offer to get rid of Harvath for them.”

“He’d have to find them first, and based on what we’ve been told,” countered Parker, “that’s not something even the United States government has been able to do. Right?”

Parker was speaking to him, but Harvath had only half heard him. His mind was still replaying the conversation he’d had with Gary Lawlor shortly after hanging up with the Troll.

Everything the dwarf had told him made sense. He had been right about the radioisotope program and the fact that the blood over Harvath’s doorframe had been tainted with it. He had little reason to suspect the information about the men released from Guantanamo was anything but accurate as well.

That was what really bothered him. If these four detainees were as bad as the Troll claimed, they never should have seen the light of day again. So why were they free? What possible reason could there have been for letting them go?

This line of questioning led Harvath to something even more disturbing. These men could never have been released from Gitmo without the president’s knowledge. Suddenly, he knew why the president had wanted to sideline him. For some reason, Rutledge was protecting these men. But why?

Protecting them made about as much sense as releasing them. Harvath shared his shock and disappointment at the president with Lawlor, but his boss had little sympathy for him. He reminded Harvath that he was under direct orders from Rutledge to back off and let the president and his people handle it. Lawlor then demanded that he come home.

If anyone knew that there were times not to play by the rules, it was Lawlor. His refusal to acknowledge that now was definitely one of those times not only pissed Harvath off, but left him feeling strangely abandoned.

Parker snapped his fingers in front of Harvath’s face to get his attention. “Am I talking solely for my own benefit here?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” replied Harvath, bringing himself back to the present. “What were we talking about?”

Parker rolled his eyes. “ The Troll. Are we going to agree to his deal or not?”

Harvath thought about it a moment and then replied, “I’m inclined to pay him.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” moaned Parker as he threw his hands into the air. “Jesus, Harvath.”

“Tim’s right. He knows better than to put a hit on me. If he does, he’ll never get back any of what we took from him.”

“But-” attempted Parker.

“And I know if anything does happen to me,” continued Harvath, “I’ve got two friends who will make sure he pays.”

Finney looked over both of his shoulders trying to spot the friends Harvath was referring to, then exclaimed, “Oh! You mean us.”

Harvath ignored them both and rattled off a list of instructions to Tom Morgan.

Forty-five minutes later, the Troll posted his list of four names, along with their nationalities and some other info, to the private chat room. The list made no sense at all. The nationalities were all across the board. Harvath had no idea what they could possibly have in common, but it didn’t matter. He was convinced he had his man. It was the third entry on the list- Ronaldo Palmera , Mexico . Mexico was only a short boat ride from San Diego.

Harvath typed the name on his computer and hit send.

While the Troll went to work tracking down anything he could about the target, Parker and Morgan got started on their own research. Finney and Harvath were left alone to talk.

“Any of the names ring a bell with you?” asked Finney.

“No,” he replied.

“ Syria, Morocco, Australia, and Mexico? I don’t know about this. I think your pal the Troll is pulling our legs.”

Harvath shook his head. “If he plays us, he’ll be the one who loses. He knows that.”

“But what kind of a list is that? It sounds like a judging panel for an international figure-skating competition. We’re talking about four of the worst of the worst released from Gitmo.”

“So?”

“So, what’s the link? What do these guys have in common that they’d all be released at the same time? And who’d care enough about these assholes to send a plane to pick them up and change out their blood as part of the in-flight entertainment?”

Harvath couldn’t argue with him. “Maybe Ronaldo Palmera will be able to tell us.”

“Maybe,” replied Finney. “But first we’ll have to find him. Mexico is a big place.”

“We’re talking about the guy who attacked my mother and almost killed Tracy,” replied Harvath. “I don’t care if we have to tear the whole country apart. He’s ours.”

BALTIMORE, MARYLAND

Since interviewing Tom Gosse, Baltimore Sun reporter Mark Sheppard hadn’t slept much. The first thing he had done was verify Gosse’s claims that his friend, State of Maryland Medical Examiner Frank Aposhian, and his girlfriend/investigator, Sally Rutherford, had actually been killed in a traffic accident. They had, but the circumstances around it weren’t as cut and dried as Gosse made them out to be.

According to Gosse, Aposhian said that the night the supposed FBI agents had returned to his home, they had threatened him. They had told him to cease any further inquiries into the John Doe that had been removed from the ME’s office. Aposhian didn’t want any trouble and agreed not to ask any more questions. The problem, as it turned out, wasn’t with Aposhian asking questions, it was with his girlfriend, Rutherford.

The woman smelled something funny and refused to throw in the towel. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing to compel her to obey a pair of fake FBI agents-no matter how convincing they were. What’s more, they had no idea she and Aposhian were an item. All they knew was that she was an investigator in the ME’s office and had run a set of prints for him. As long as she was careful, whoever these clowns were, they’d have no idea what she was up to.